My first foray into the world of Mexican “get-togethers” was a family reunion for Becky’s mother’s side. We were still dating but her family was starting to accept that I wasn’t going anywhere. That, or they had secretly paid one of their ex-gang member relatives to take me out while Becky was at college.

As I followed Becky around like a giant, mute puppy dog, I began to ask her as discreetly as possible to give me the names of some of the family members coming our way. This was partly because I didn’t want to butcher their names when introductions began, but it was also because I was interested in how each of these people were related to the woman I loved. No exaggeration, this is how our exchange went:

Me: Hey, who is that guy talking to your Dad?

Becky: I think that is one of my cousins.

Me: What’s his name?

Becky: I don’t know.

Me: Hey, those two girls talking to your mom…who are they?

Becky: Those are my cousins.

Me: Really. What are their names?

Becky: I think one is named Rosa, but I don’t know the other’s name.

Me: That guy that just came over and gave you a hug…what was his name?

Becky: I don’t remember.

Me: Seriously. Well, how was he related to you?

Becky: He is one of my Mom’s cousins I think.

After four or five attempts at trying to get the name or relation of some of the people we were meeting and coming up basically empty, I stopped asking and resolved to accept that my wife was just as overwhelmed by her relatives as I was and was probably going to assume that anyone she wasn’t familiar with must be a cousin of some degree.

Oh the memories.

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